


je ne veux pas mourir sans toi

by poisongardens



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-05-08 07:16:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5488460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisongardens/pseuds/poisongardens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thranduil arrives at the hotel in northern Wales thinking it's terribly out of fashion, and the owners are a bit strange, but it seems nice enough. He's soon going to revise this evaluation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> my not so secret santa-gift for megan aka ofplanet_earth, i hope that you and everyone else enjoys this; the first part of a longer story. happy holidays! <3

 

The candles everywhere are a bit off putting, actually. Sigrid was right. “Like a vampire film from the eighties”. Bard thought they went well together with the rest of the interior but she's right, it's too much. Doesn't even generate an actual eighteenth century vibe, apparently.

“Finally,” she says hurrying past him as he's taking them all down.

Mrs Edwards looks up from her newspaper.

“What are you doing? Are you taking them down?”

“Yes.”

“All of them? I thought they looked so nice! Won't it be dark in here?”

“No, no, we'll see to that. I would never want you to strain those lovely eyes of yours.”

The old woman grunts and goes back to reading about this year's most popular Christmas gifts.

“Can I keep the candles in my room?” Jeremy asks in his quiet voice as Bard snatches the candelabra from his table.

“You can have as many candles as you want.”

“Thank you.”

“No fires, please.”

“I know.”

 

“Are you sure about Jeremy?”

Bard pours cheap red wine into the glass on the tray.

“He'll be fine.”

Sigrid says nothing, puts away the half-empty bottle.

“We have smoke detectors.”

“I know, but...”

“He'll be fine, darling.”

Sigrid hums and leaves the kitchen with Jeremy's food.

“Sunday roast for the lady,” Bard says as he puts the tray down in front of Mrs Edwards.

“Thank you, dear,” she drawls.

“You know...” Bard leans down, resting his hands on her small round table. “We have a new one checking in later.”

“A new one?”

“Mhm.”

Mrs Edwards studies him.

“What do we know about them?”

“Well, nothing. He's from England, is all.”

She grimaces. Could be from the wine.

“Is that so wise?”

“Oh, come on, now. Enjoy your dinner.”

 

“I'm just saying, I don't like it.”

Bard raises his eyebrows at her, exchanges the tray for a cup on a saucer.

“It doesn't feel good, having them around here.”

“Drink your coffee, Mrs Edwards.”

 

“When are people getting here?” Sigrid asks, checking the key cabinet in the cramped reception.

“Tomorrow, I think. Some on Tuesday.”

Bard squeezes past her, checks the calendar and adds a “yeah”.

“Mmh.” She writes something down on her palm. “And the other one?”

“Today. Tonight.”

“Did you get the room ready?”

“Yes, darling.”

“I'm just checking.”

“I know...”

Bard sits down on his heels, gets out a folder from one of the hundreds of little shelves in the tiny room.

“Mrs Edward's worried,” he says, looking up at his daughter.

She looks back at him with that hard stare of hers.

“You're not letting her get to you, are ya?”

“No, it's not that.” He sounds irritated. She probably doesn't believe him.

“Just because she thinks she runs this place doesn't mean we have to put up with her constant complaining.”

“She's not that bad,” Bard says as he stands back up.

Sigrid huffs.

“She's got a _lot_ of opinions.”

“That is true.”

“I can talk to her, if you-”

“No, no, it's okay,” Bard cuts her off. “Really, it's fine.”

“All right.” Sigrid puts up her hands as she hustles her way out of the reception.

Now Bard huffs. He really isn't worried. There's nothing new about this. And Sigrid knows that Bard knows that _if_ anything should happen, he can rely on her to fix it.

 

Jeremy went to bed several hours ago and Mrs Edwards has just gone back to her room. It's just the two of them now, Sigrid having tea by the dying fire and Bard going through tomorrow's bookings one last time.

The door swings open by the other end of the hallway and lets in cold winter air and a tall, blond man. He struggles with two big suitcases until Sigrid runs to hold up the door for him.

“Thank you,” the man says with a friendly smile. “Oh.”

His eyes are caught on one of the paintings that more or less cover the walls of the hall. Bard can't tell which one.

“That's a… scary painting.”

Bard opens his mouth to say something but doesn't know what.

“Sorry,” their new guest says, recomposing himself, walking up to the reception counter.

“Hi, welcome to Talyllyn Hotel,” Bard says. Very professional.

“Thank you,” the man says again. “I have a reservation, uh… Oropherion.”

“Right, very good.”

Bard turns around to get him his key as Sigrid joins him in there. She walks up to the counter and makes a little mark by the guest's name in the calendar.

“Is that French?” Bard asks turning around again.

“Hm? Oh, yeah. It's also ancient.”

“I think it's fascinating.”

“Hm, well, you should hear my full name, then.”

“Would love to.”

Sigrid shoves him in the side and gives him the look that specifically means “don't flirt with the guests”.

“I wasn't!” he tells her, holding his hands up.

She just raises her eyebrows at him and turns to their guest, who definitely looks a little confused by now.

“Breakfast's at seven,” Bard says, smiling at him and handing him the key to his room. “Room number nine, just down the hall to your left, then make a right.”

“Great.”

“Let me know if you need anything. If something happens, our rooms are right over there, just-”

“I think he's all right, da.” Sigrid switches to her host-face. “Down the hall, make a right.”

“Right. Thank you.” Mr Oropherion looks like he's not sure if he's excused or not, but then sets off on the path described to him.

“Real smooth,” Sigrid says on her way out.

“I wasn't-” Bard begins, following behind her. He lowers his voice to a whisper. “I wasn't flirting.”

“Okay. I'm locking up.”

Bard says nothing. He makes sure the fire has died out and that everything is set for tomorrow, then finds Jeremy outside the dining room in his nightshirt, looking around himself with barely awake eyes.

“Why are you up?” Bard asks him, putting a cautious hand on his shoulder. “What's wrong?”

“Something,” Jeremy mumbles, squints at Bard, then he's searching for something again.

Bard feels his stomach turn with unease despite himself. He can't help it – it's an unnerving scene.

“No, no,” he tells Jeremy, trying to direct him back to his room. “Nothing's wrong.”

“Something,” Jeremy says again. He allows Bard to lead him, though.

“Go back to sleep. It'll feel better in the morning.”

“Mmh. Maybe.”

“I'm making the eggs with the spinach.”

“Oh, that's nice.”

“Right?”

“I'm sorry.” Jeremy shakes his head. He seems embarrassed now. “I had the strangest dream.”

“Hey, no need to apologise.”

Jeremy grunts.

“Just get some sleep.”

“All right.” Jeremy nods and stops outside his door. “Good thing you take care of me, Bard.”

“Well, of course. Silly old man.”

Jeremy giggles.

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Jeremy.”

 

“What happened?”

Sigrid is poking her head out of her room.

“He's having nightmares again, I think.”

“He should see Am-”

“I know, I'll tell him in the morning.”

“Mmh.” Sigrid grins at him. “Did you get scared?”

“Hey! Go to bed, young lady.”

“Funny.”

“I know. See you in five hours.”

Sigrid groans.

“Six, maybe.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I'm not gonna _fall in love_ with him.”

 

Bard makes his third coffee round of the morning for the benefit of the only two guests awake.

”So, how are we today, then?” he asks Jeremy, takes a sip from the cup in his hand.

”You know, I do feel much better.”

”I told you.”

Jeremy nods.

“And you know who's coming today.”

“Oh, well I don't want to bother her.” Jeremy waves an old man-hand at him.

“You're not bothering her. You're going to talk to her.”

“All right.”

“She's happy to help.”

Bard is waiting for Mrs Edwards to ask about the guest in room nine but she's awfully quiet this morning.

“I imagine she comes more for Sigrid's sake than for mine,” Jeremy says.

“True. But she loves you.”

“She's a sweet girl.”

“Yeah.”

The guest in room nine has in fact not shown up for breakfast yet. “I don't like it,” Mrs Edwards would no doubt say if she hadn't been mysteriously silenced. “Who does he think he is? You show up on time for breakfast, is what you do. It's called manners.” An imaginary Sigrid rolls her eyes.

Bard goes upstairs to get the big box of Christmas ornaments and when he's coming back down the stairs the real Sigrid is running through the hallway dressed in her winter coat and slams the door on her way out. Bard looks through the kitchen and the reception to see if she's left a note. He doesn't find one.

When he peeks into the dining room he does find Mr Oropherion seated as far away from the other two as possible, right by the window closest to the fire.

“Good morning,” Bard greets him – a stretch, considering the time.

He looks up, gives him that sad, friendly smile and Bard falls in love with him just a little bit.

“Good morning.”

“What can I get ya?”

“Coffee, would be great.”

“Nothing to eat?

“Oh, I'm… not really a… breakfast person,” he says, almost excusing himself.

“Hm. All right, then. I'll get you that coffee.”

“Thanks.”

 

“This comes with the coffee,” Bard says, serving his guest a blueberry scone.

“You really didn't have to,” Mr Oropherion says.

“I know.”

“It looks delicious. Can I get some cream cheese?”

“Of course.”

Mrs Edwards seemingly finds the weather section of her newspaper very interesting. Maybe Sigrid threatened her.

 

Breakfast is over since long and only Mrs Edwards is sitting in her usual chair in the dining room when Sigrid returns, along with two dark haired girls. The tallest one lets go of Sigrid's hand to give Bard a hug.

“It's great to see you,” Bard tells them and hugs Dalia as well.

“You too,” Amina says.

“I'm making them something to eat,” Sigrid says and takes Amina's hand again.

“I'll help you,” Bard says.

“Hi, girls,” Mrs Edwards shouts from the dining room.

 

Sigrid plucks a small flower from the plant in the kitchen window and puts it behind Amina's ear.

“You know, _I'm_ not allowed to flirt with the guests,” Bard says. Sigrid sighs.

“Oh, yeah, the cute blond?” Amina grins, leaning back against the kitchen island.

“Hey!”

Sigrid laughs.

“Did you tell her anything?” Bard asks her.

She shakes her head.

“Don't do that!” Bard says to Amina but fails in upholding an image of authority.

“She can if you're gonna be like that,” Sigrid says.

She gets the vegetables out of the oven and says to her girlfriend, “Freaks him out every time.”

 

The boy with dark brown waves hanging down to his jaw Bard has only ever known as Jack arrives as lunch is being served. Well, he's hardly a boy any more. He looks even older now that he's got that constant look of agony on his face. Dalia helps him get settled in his usual room in spite of Bard refusing letting her do so.

“Stop helping,” he tells Amina.

“No,” she says from behind the refrigerator door.

“We can manage four people for lunch. You've been travelling all day.”

It's no use. And it's actually just three people.

 

“Excuse me?”

Bard looks up from the reception counter to find number nine standing in front of him.

“Yes?”

“Um. Do you have a phone I could use? I can't get any reception and I-”

“Of course, absolutely, we have a phone, it's no problem.”

“Oh, that's great.”

“It's, uh, it's in here, just a second...”

Bard makes his way out and gestures for Mr Oropherion to go inside. He smiles at Bard as he passes him in the narrow hallway.

“To your left.”

“Thank you. I won't be long.”

“Oh, take your time.”

Bard goes to stand in the dining room doorway, looking out over the for once empty room.

“What are you doing?” Sigrid asks him.

“Nothing. I'm going over dinner in my head.”

“Uh-huh.”

A string of sentences spoken in French reaches them from the reception.

“Don't swoon,” Sigrid deadpans and leaves him to eavesdrop on the unintelligible phone call.

 

“Da! The Americans are here!” Sigrid shouts from the hallway.

“Hey, you made it!” Bard wipes his hands on his apron, leans in to give them a careful hug each. “Across the Atlantic, hope you didn't get seasick.”

“Very funny,” Mr Domingues tells him.

“I hear those ships are just awful. Full of rats.”

“They _were_.”

At least Mrs Domingues is laughing.

“And the food...” Bard goes on.

“The food we had on the airplane wasn't much better,” Mr Domingues says.

“Come on, I'll help you get settled while those two get _that_ out of their systems,” Sigrid tells him.

“Oh, you go with them,” Bard says to Mrs Domingues. “I have to get back to the kitchen. Dinner in fifteen.”

 

He looks so out of place, Mr Oropherion. Bard supposes anyone would in this picture. Everyone else, even a slightly reluctant Mrs Edwards, is sitting at a big funny-looking table made out of the small round ones in the dining room. Dalia asked him if he wanted to join them, of course. Bard doesn't blame him for turning down the offer.

His heart aches a little at the sight, though. All alone in a room full of people.

“Do you mind if I join you?”

Mr Oropherion looks up, surprised. Bard can feel Sigrid's eyes on him.

“No, not at all.”

Bard smiles, puts his plate down and sits with him.

“You don't want to…” He gestures towards the lively company.

“Oh, no, I'll have time to catch up with them.”

Mr Oropherion nods, cutting up a piece of the pie.

“So… You all know each other, then?” he asks.

“Yeah… One way or another.”

“I see,” he says but looks like he doesn't.

“We, uh, we usually celebrate Christmas here.”

Bard wants to ask him what he's doing here. That's not weird, right? He's pretty sure it's a normal thing to ask.

“That's nice,” Mr Oropherion says.

Bard nods.

“Mmh. What about you? I mean… Any… Christmas plans?”

“Not really, no. Jewish family, _French_ family, living in France.” He smiles.

“Ah, right.”

“I like it, though. All the fuss.”

“Bard!” Jack shouts. “Hey, man, get over here!”

He doesn't get a chance, though. Jack is over by their table in a second.

“Since when do you call me 'man'? You're Scottish.”

“Aye, you're right about that.” Jack grins. “Who's your friend?”

“He's just a guest. He's new,” Bard tells him with a meaning look.

“I'm Thranduil.”

Bard watches as Mr Oropherion stretches his arm out and shakes Jack's hand.

“Woah. I'm Jack. Pleasure to meet ya.” He turns to Bard, eyebrows raised and that grin still on his face. “French?”

Bard glares at him. “Have you had a bit to drink, perhaps?”

“That I have. C'mon, you have to join us!”

Jack starts pulling him by the arm and a moment later he's sitting pressed between Sigrid and Mr Oropherion by the oddly shaped table, trying his best to save him from everyone in general, Mrs Edwards in particular. He throws Sigrid a worried look, and she nods reassuringly.

 

“Oh my god,” Bard sighs, leaning back against the kitchen wall. “Is it over?”

“No, you've got about two more weeks of this,” Sigrid reminds him.

“Yeah, that's right, isn't it...”

“Plus Edgar.”

“Well, it's not so much Edgar I'm worried about as Jack.”

Sigrid hums in agreement. They begin cleaning up after dinner and preparing for tomorrow with only the occasional sigh from Bard.

“They all know, right?” he asks his daughter.

“Yes,” she tells him as if she's already said this a hundred times.

“Good. Jack, too, right?”

“Yeah, but, you know…”

“Mh, I do know.”

Sigrid slams the dishwasher shut and turns to look at him.

“I think you _are_ worried.”

“I'm…” Bard shrugs. “Not worried, exactly.”

“I think you are.”

“Okay, I'm a little worried.”

“What for?”

“I don't know, I just… am.”

“Well, don't be. I can handle it.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Mmh. Good.”

“I just… I'd rather it didn't come to that.”

Sigrid watches him.

“Well, yeah, of course.”

 

“Just… be careful, all right?” Sigrid asks when everything on the list has been ticked off.

Bard frowns.

“Uh, yeah, what do you mean?”

“I don't know. Maybe don't fall in love with him.”

“I'm not gonna _fall in love_ with him.”

“Okay. Good night, then.”

“You're being ridiculous.”

 


End file.
